


leap into the waves

by Liu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Historical, Barry is seventeen, Eventual Smut, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Multi, Pederasty, Pirate Mick, and they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4810175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry has given up hope for obtaining an older lover, the way boys from good families should; he's not expecting Leonard, an older, wealthy warrior, to show up and offer for him.</p><p>[Ancient Greece AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	leap into the waves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CFTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFTrash/gifts).



> Gifted to [coldflashtrash](http://coldflashtrash.tumblr.com/) because of the scream-fest we had on tumblr about historical AUs :D hope you'll enjoy this one :)
> 
> All my knowledge of Ancient Greece, especially Minoan Crete and how these boy/man relationships work, comes from a lot of googling. My greatest thanks goes to [lisellevelvet](http://lisellevelvet.tumblr.com/) for beta work and fact-checking; any possible remaining mistakes and historical screw-ups are my own and I'll be grateful if you let me know :)
> 
> I'll put a short description of what I learned about these rituals, as well as a short glossary, to end notes, if anyone's confused or interested.

“Traitor,” Barry hisses at Cisco. He should’ve seen this coming, really: Cisco’s idea that they should take a walk away from all the excitement of the bull-leaping was transparent, at best. Barry should learn not to trust even the closest of his friends – since they apparently deemed it appropriate to help older men with ulterior motives.

 

Leonard is smiling, but there’s something predatory in the seemingly innocent expression: he reminds Barry of a large cat, basking in the afternoon sun but always ready to pounce, shall a mouse pass by.

 

Barry does not particularly enjoy feeling like a mouse, no matter how handsome, rich and respected his captor is.

  
“Does my father know about this?” Barry snaps, his last line of defense.

 

“Of course. I have his permission.” Leonard looks slightly affronted, but Barry had to ask: Leonard is not known for following rules he believes unnecessary and outdated, and gaining paternal approval for pursuing Barry might not have been high on his list of priorities. Barry swallows, feeling even more betrayed: how come his father knew about Leonard’s intentions and never said a word to Barry? It would have been nice to be prepared for the ambush.

 

Leonard takes a step closer: even in the sweltering heat of the summer day, Barry can feel his proximity like a brand against his skin. Surprisingly enough, Leonard’s fingers are almost cool as they close around Barry’s wrist, lightly, carefully – an offer, not a command.

 

“If you are opposed to coming with me, just say a word, and I am gone,” Leonard murmurs, his unusual, blue eyes intense as he stares right into Barry’s soul. This is not how things are supposed to go: if Leonard truly has Henry’s approval, then Barry does not get much say. And yet, here Leonard stands, offering Barry an out – the first instinct of his jack-rabbiting heart is to decline, to turn and run and never look back.

 

But Barry’s nearly seventeen; he has given up any thoughts of attracting someone’s attention, and he has made his peace with never experiencing a relationship with an older man, never knowing what he could have learned and discovered that way. The mocking that comes for a boy past his prime who’s never had an _erastes_ is just another unpleasant side-effect, but not an easily dismissed one. And here Barry is, thinking of declining a chance that will never come his way again.

 

“I’ll go with you,” Barry decides, quietly and shakily. He doesn’t know what he can expect from Leonard: he has heard stories about _erastai_ , about the things they request as payment for their teaching. He has heard stories about _Leonard_ , about the swift brutality with which he protects the Cretan fleet from pirates: people are grateful, but also a little bit scared of him, and Barry fears to think how such fierce temperament will translate into their relationship. But during the feasts in the _andreion_ , Leonard is never aggressive or otherwise improper: gruff, maybe, at times, smug in his knowledge of lands beyond the sea. On the very few occasions that Leonard was present in the _andreion_ instead of being away on business during the feasts, Barry has found him intriguing and infuriating in equal measure, but never downright scary. So Barry wants to try, wants to hear the stories Leonard can tell, and if things don’t work out, Barry can still say ‘no’. He is _expected_ to, at any rate, to not agree to certain parts of this kind of a relationship – Barry thinks that may be the reason why his father has given Leonard his consent: Henry would expect his son not to give himself up so easily.

 

If only his father knew about Barry’s secret propensity for inappropriate dreams, he might have not agreed at all. But Barry is glad that his father knows nothing about the carefully concealed desires of his son; and when Leonard’s full lips stretch in a slow, satisfied smile, Barry is not sure whether he’ll be able to ever say ‘no’ to the man for real.

 

…...

 

It does not take them too long to reach Leonard’s villa in Amnissos. Their horses trot along the dirt road at a comfortable pace – Cisco comes with, as custom dictates, but he keeps his distance, correctly reading Barry’s expression as ‘stay away’. He’s still a little mad at his father and at his friends, for not giving him even a sliver of warning, but as he watches Leonard, moving graciously with the horse’s steps, Barry can’t bring himself to feel this is entirely bad. Leonard is older, of course – based on the stories of him, Barry would say he’s just shy of thirty. He does not _seem_ old, though: his shoulders and cheeks are a little bit burnt, no doubt from all the time he spends at sea, and his hair is curly, close-cropped, military in fashion just like the stern, self-assured way he holds his muscular body, revealed down to his narrow waist. His kilt doesn’t betray his wealth, simple in design, pale linen with a traditional pattern and colorful lining, and Barry’s glad that Leonard does not parade his status around like expensive jewelry.

 

And he’s wealthy, alright: Barry lets out an awed breath when they approach Leonard’s home – or is this just one of many? The villa is built on a slope, the rocky mountain behind it making it very difficult, if not impossible, to approach from the back. The front of the house overlooks the sea, which makes sense with Leonard’s occupation, but Barry is glad for the view. He always found the sea fascinating, dreaming of boarding a ship and seeing places other than Crete. That his potential _erastes_ has done just that fills Barry with even more longing for travel, and insatiable curiosity for Leonard’s tales.

 

Barry half-expects a servant to come out to meet them, to take the horses, but when they dismount, Leonard waves them towards the house and leads all three horses to the back, where the stables must be. Barry gives Cisco a look that is both excitement and forgiveness, because in a place he does not know, it is good to have a friend with him, even if it’s a friend who has backstabbed him just an hour ago. They instinctively walk closer to each other as they ascend the three terracotta steps, as they pass bright red columns and duck through the front gate to find themselves in a square-shaped courtyard. A woman walks out to greet them: something about her amused smirk reminds Barry of Leonard. Her light, flowing dress is far more elaborate than Leonard’s clothing, though, and her jewelry glints gold and luxurious against her neck, between her full breasts, against her long hands when she steps out of the shade.

  
“You must be Barry. I am Leonard’s sister – you may call me Lisa… and this is Cisco, isn’t it,” she smiles. Barry can hear Cisco next to him make a strangled sound.

 

“You must forgive me for intruding on your time with my brother,” she continues, and something about the way she says it, all innocent and sweet, makes Barry believe that she is not sorry at all. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet his chosen boy – I do hope you won’t reject him after all.”

 

Barry wonders what she would do to him if he does; it should be funny that he’s more scared of his potential _erastes_ ’ sister than he is of the man himself, but it’s really, really not. Cisco, however, does not seem terrified at all – or maybe he just discovered in himself an attraction to danger, because he smiles dopily at Lisa; she returns the smile with a somewhat smug undercurrent.

  
“Come,” she turns, the motion fluid and smooth, her shiny curls brushing against her tiny waist. “You must be thirsty from the road.”

 

The wine is mild and nicely flavored with herbs and some honey: Cisco groans in pleasure at the taste and Barry chuckles at him, but has to agree. They get some fresh bread and salty cheese to go with it, as well as grapes, huge and shiny and deliciously strong. They’re both content and rested by the time Leonard shows up: he steals a grape from the plate and pops it in his mouth, smiling at Barry a little bit, which makes Barry blush.

  
“Lisa will show you your room,” Leonard turns to Cisco, and Barry’s stomach momentarily tightens, because he honestly expected to share with his friend… but it does make sense to separate them. After all, their visit here is supposed to be about Leonard seducing Barry – a little difficult to do that with a chaperoning friend present at all times.

 

Cisco follows Lisa out of the kitchen, eyes practically glazed over and Leonard laughs at the sight, settles at the table near Barry. Their elbows brush by accident: Barry pulls away minutely, not wanting to offend but uncomfortable with physical closeness just yet.

 

Leonard notices, no matter how subtle Barry tries to be about it. His blue eyes look at the point where their skin was touching just a moment ago, then slide up Barry’s arm, his shoulder, over Barry’s face like a physical caress.

  
“I need you to understand one thing,” Leonard’s voice is soft – Barry hates being treated like a startled animal, but his heart is almost hurting itself, slamming against his ribcage, so maybe Leonard is on to something there. “I will never do anything you don’t want from me. While you’re here, I will show you what your life would be like, should you allow me in it – but all the decisions are yours.”

  
Barry knows that; refusing an _erastes_ ’ advances altogether is uncommon but not unheard of, and all the boys Barry knows have been taught the subtle rules of the game. There are always power struggles to be played out, stringing the older man along, taking advantage, even using falsehood and seduction to keep an older man’s interest. Barry has never wanted that, though – one reason why he refused Harrison back when he was thirteen. That man’s eyes shone with sharp intelligence, just like Leonard’s, but it felt like Harrison was hiding everything, preparing for a battle of wits, preparing to dominate instead of teach, and Barry still does not regret rejecting him, even after all the teasing he had to endure for not having acquired a mentor for himself.

 

Leonard’s eyes are calculating, as if he’s trying to read Barry’s moves in advance, but it does not feel like he’s gearing up for an attack. Hearing him put the power of decision in Barry’s hands so firmly is relaxing, and Barry finds himself nodding with a tentative smile.

  
“How about we take a walk?” Leonard asks – Barry laughs, but it’s mostly at the ridiculousness of hearing the same words twice in one day. Cisco offered him a walk not two hours earlier, and now Barry’s here, having Leonard ask the same.

  
“Why not,” he agrees anyway: it’s not like Leonard will lead him to another _erastes_ , so Barry should be relatively safe.

 

The sun is close to setting when they walk out, the late afternoon bathing the rocks in soft, warm light and making the sea glitter like a precious stone. Barry takes a deep breath – the air is full of salt and Barry’s eyes fall closed for a moment as he imagines breathing the scent of the waves while on a ship set to anywhere. He wonders if that will ever happen, if it could, with Leonard.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

  
“Of course,” Leonard nods – his eyes are on Barry as if there is nothing more important in the world at this moment. It makes Barry feel young, inadequate, but he forces himself to ask.

 

“Would you take me with you? When you leave Crete again.”

  
“Where would you want to go?” Leonard’s smile is soft and understanding, not at all amused at Barry’s expense like he feared it would be. It’s not an outright ‘no’, at the very least… he does not have a good answer for Leonard’s question, though.

 

“Anywhere. Athens and Thebes, of course… Mycenae, and Sparta and Troy…”

 

They sit down on a stone bench not far from the villa, waiting for the sun’s disc to touch the horizon; Leonard laughs quietly and shakes his head. It makes his short curls stir in the cooling breeze, and Barry can’t look away. Leonard is so handsome like this, with his eyes lit up in the sunset, his features softened through a smile – Barry feels shame burn within him like a flame. He is not supposed to pick his _erastes_ based on looks, boys are not the ones supposed to like their older men like _that_. He is supposed to want knowledge and status and honor, and he does, he does, but he also wants things he cannot name or describe, and that want is a constant dull pressure in his stomach, pushing him to recognize his hunger and sate it.

 

He stomps that hunger down, swallows to ease the pressure in his stomach as Leonard looks at him again.

 

“It might take a while to get you to all those places. How do you feel about Cyprus, or Egypt?”

 

Barry immediately forgets all of his unease and almost jumps up on the bench, half-twisting to his side in excitement.

  
“Have you been to Egypt?”

 

He barely even registers the night falling around them – Leonard paints the picture of the great Egyptian kingdom in vivid colors, shaping the streets and palaces and statues out of thin air with his words, then finds a bit of a broken-off branch and draws strange pictures in the sand, showing Barry the Egyptian writing, or what he remembers of it. Barry is mesmerized, and that night, he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

 

……

 

“You’re so lucky,” Cisco groans over the most luxurious breakfast they ever had the pleasure of having.

 

“Only the best for Barry,” Leonard smiles, and Barry blushes, unused to such attentions. But he has to admit that Cisco is right. There are several types of delicious cheese and cold meats, five kinds of olives, some of them bitter and strong, some sweet and so big it’s difficult to eat them in one bite. There’s crispy, fragrant bread that Lisa must have baked because there is no way they could ride back to Knossos and get the bread back here still hot. Some of the fruit has likely been brought from Leonard’s recent trip because Barry doesn’t recognize it all, but he makes it a point to try at least a little of everything. His head is nearly spinning with all the flavors – is this Leonard’s idea of an everyday meal, or is the man showing off just a bit? Barry doesn’t mind either way. If he can eat like this at least once in a while, he wouldn’t mind becoming Leonard’s _eromenos_ at all.

 

He is ashamed of himself for that thought almost immediately; the herb-flavored milk helps wash the bitter taste down, but the shame lingers in the back of his mind. Barry has never liked hearing other boys talk about their _erastai_ as if the only thing that connected them was a business transaction, as if an older mentor was only good for providing luxuries. He knows that the material side of it is a part of the deal, but he’s always wanted more.

 

They end up too full to move after breakfast – Lisa offers to show Cisco the beach and the boy agrees with flushed eagerness. Barry shows interest as well, and they end up taking the rocky path downhill towards the shore, with Cisco and Lisa walking first and Leonard and Barry behind them, far enough not to hear each other’s dialogues easily, close enough to have the safety of numbers, should anything happen. Barry doesn’t feel particularly threatened – this part of the island is mostly deserted, apart from a few villas not unlike Leonard’s, but Barry can’t help and notice that Leonard is alert, eyes darting to one side and then another from time to time, aware of their surroundings even if his face is calm. It makes Barry feel safer, somehow, and he shouldn’t be putting this much trust in a man he only truly knows through gossip, but it is increasingly difficult to be wary of Leonard. He’s attentive in the smallest ways, taking the rockier side of the path when possible, holding low-hanging branches out of Barry’s way; Barry thanks him when Leonard reaches up and picks a ripe orange for Barry off a lonely tree, and Leonard’s responding smile makes Barry’s heart beat a tiny bit faster.

 

Warm waves lick over their bare feet as they tread the untouched sand, and Barry smiles when he sees Cisco get all flustered and flailing every now and then in the distance. Leonard’s voice is a pleasant lull against the sound of the sea when he talks some more about other places he’s seen, prompted by Barry’s insatiable curiosity. Travel talk dips into history and politics; Leonard is vastly knowledgeable about everything and Barry enjoys swapping ideas, even if they’re ridiculous. They end up laughing several times and Barry has honestly not expected someone Leonard’s age to be so easy to rise to the simplest jokes.

 

They walk back to the house once the sun is high and hot in the sky, and the boys go to the bathroom to clean the sand off their bodies.

  
“I really mean it,” Cisco says once they’re alone, pouring fresh water over their salt-crusted feet.

  
“Huh?” Barry raises an eyebrow, his mind still mostly caught up on what Leonard said earlier about some Egyptian pharaoh.

 

“About Leonard,” Cisco shrugs. “That you’re lucky. Wasn’t this supposed to be about ‘living in wilderness’ with him? Not that I’m complaining, this is a lot more comfortable, but he must really want to impress you.”

  
The idea of anyone wanting to impress _him_ makes Barry laugh.

  
“Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe he just wants an _eromenos_ who won’t be stolen away by some other man while he’s away at sea,” he says, and the thought makes his heart clench painfully. Could that be it? Leonard has to know that Barry has no other suitors – Barry is also almost too old to have an _erastes_ , so his chances of finding someone else are practically non-existent.

 

But Cisco snorts at the idea and waves his hand dismissively, making tiny grains of sand fly through the air.  


“Have you _seen_ the guy when he looks at you, Barry? Stop thinking of yourself so badly. He wants you alright… just don’t be too easy, huh?” Cisco winks and washes the last of the sand off himself, then walks away, leaving Barry standing still in the bathroom, his throat tight and dry, stomach quivering in excitement at the thought of Leonard truly, honestly wanting _him_.

 

Barry craves that more than is proper. He has a feeling that ‘not being too easy’ could become a problem, and fast.

 

……

 

Days flow past in languid contentment and stretch into weeks; Leonard does take them hunting a couple of times and Barry always ends up watching him more than the prey. The man is strong, yet agile, efficient and quiet and deadly, and it’s getting harder and harder for Barry to stop his intrusive thoughts while he watches Leonard’s back ripple with muscles as he stretches for something, his powerful calves revealed by the edges of his kilt. Barry finds himself looking anywhere but at Leonard, most of the time – he cannot allow himself to feel this inappropriate attraction any deeper.

 

But of course, nothing escapes Leonard’s searching gaze. Barry is lulled halfway to sleep by the honeyed wine and the warm summer night, peacefully studying the colors on the villa’s beautiful wall frescos, when Leonard decides to confront him about it.

 

“Have I done something to offend you?” Leonard sits on the bench across from Barry, his clasped hands on the table. Barry lazily traces the ridges of his muscled forearms with his eyes, his brain slow to catch up.

  
“What…?” he mutters. Leonard’s eyes are intense for a moment, and Barry has never seen him look as out of his depth as when he stands up from the table again, paces the kitchen a little bit, turns his back on Barry before speaking again.

 

“In the last few days… you have been avoiding me. You look to the side before meeting my eyes, pull your hand further away when in danger of touching me. Have I not made myself clear? I will never force you, Barry. You do not need to startle when I am near.”

 

He sounds anguished, confused, and Barry wants to tell him – but how can he put into words what he has been pushing away as firmly as he can? How can he explain it is not Leonard he’s afraid of, but himself and his dark, improper want for the man; how can he say it’s not that he doesn’t wish for Leonard’s touch, but the exact opposite?

 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Barry forces out, and Leonard’s sharp inhale tells him he has not put the other man at ease.

  
“But have I done nothing _right_?”

  
“You have,” Barry’s words ring hollow even to himself and Leonard is suddenly straddling Barry’s bench, leaning into Barry’s space, making his breath catch in his throat. He’s dimly aware of Leonard’s knee barely brushing his under the table, his kilt riding up just a little to reveal the skin of his upper thighs. Nothing has ever been as hard as not leaning into Leonard in return. Barry can’t look at him for the world.

 

“Do you want me to take you back to Knossos?”

 

“No,” a sigh, against his will; he doesn’t want to admit just how much he wishes to stay – and how much he needs to run away at the same time.

  
“Then tell me… what is it that you want?”

 

Barry makes the mistake of glancing up from his wine – Leonard’s eyes are dark in the shadows, his brow drawn tight in concern as he searches Barry’s face for clues. Barry feels naked under that inquisitive gaze, unable to hold it long for fear of Leonard finding the answers Barry is unwilling to give; he looks away, heart in his throat, and Leonard’s disappointed sigh tugs at something in Barry’s chest.

  
A laugh cuts through the air, followed by what can only be described as a happy groan: one of those is Lisa, the other Cisco. They’ve been getting closer, not-so-slowly but steadily, and Barry would bet that Cisco has not spent his last few nights alone. Jealously and selfishly, Barry wishes it could be that easy for him, that he could just… _have_ this, whatever this is, easy and laughing and not having to think about what the society will think of him, what his _lover_ would think of him if Barry gave in. Because he’s not supposed to feel this – he’s supposed to be there for Leonard to use, to trade his thighs for knowledge and experience and social standing, not to crave the man’s closeness so fervently that even sharing a bench with him makes Barry clench his fingers around his goblet to stop them from shaking.

 

Leonard sees Barry’s hand tighten against the cup, and he interprets it on his own, because the next thing Barry knows, Leonard is leaning back. It makes breathing easier but Barry wishes he wasn’t afraid to reach out and catch the older man’s hand, stop him from widening the distance between them.

  
“I see,” the man says, clipped and cold as he pushes away from the table, off the bench. For Barry, it’s a tie between fearing that Leonard understands and fearing that he doesn’t. He has never learned to navigate the thin line between revealing not enough and too much, and he doesn’t know how to tell Leonard to stay without letting on how _much_ he wants it.  He’s terrified Leonard will leave him for good if he learns of Barry’s inappropriate affection (of his lust, base, unrefined and raw) – at the same time, the fear of Leonard leaving because he thinks Barry doesn’t want him as his _erastes_ is becoming much more real every second.

 

“Don’t-“ Barry yelps: the sound of Leonard’s feet on the terracotta floor quietens down. He waits for Barry to speak, and Barry tries, he really does, but he still cannot lie and the truth does not get any easier to voice. Not even seventeen and terrified, he’s lost in the storm of his own want he has yet to learn how to brave. The crickets cry their monotonous melody and not too far off, Lisa laughs – the silence stretches thin with passing seconds, tears in the middle and breaks.

  
“We’ll go back in the morning,” Leonard sounds weary, defeated. Barry rises to his feet before he knows it, nearly falls over the bench but he’s standing, eyes firmly on the older man’s back and fists clenched at his sides, wanting, _wanting_ -

  
“No,” he nearly sobs and Leonard turns to face him, finally.  Barry’s eyes burn but he forces himself not to look away, need crashing within him like waves, breaking against the sharp rocks of his fear. Leonard stalks to him, silent and deadly and his eyes burn too, lit with anger and frustration.

 

“Then tell me what it is you want from me, Barry!” he hisses up close, _so close_. “I never demanded anything of you and yet you look at me like- like _that_ , like it hurts you just to see me. I’ve kept my distance, I haven’t even touched you, but I don’t know how to stop _wanting_ you and it’s clearly making you uncomfortable, so what should I do? You don’t mean to stay and you choose not to go – what is it you _want_?!”

 

He’s breathing heavily by the time he’s done, they both are, breathing each other’s space and it makes Barry dizzy. He sways a little – Leonard’s hand immediately shoots up to steady him, his fingers burning brands against the night-cool skin of Barry’s arm, making him shiver and choke on a quiet cry.

  
“Barry?!” Cisco’s voice, no, no, the friend who is supposed to be Barry’s chaperone, his safeguard, but not _now-_ “Everything alright?”

 

Leonard’s eyes flicker against Barry’s and he’s letting go – Barry’s world twists uncomfortably without the steadying touch of Leonard’s hand on him. He has to step forward a little to keep his precarious balance, but Leonard’s the one taking a step back now, his face drawn before he turns it away into the night.

  
“Good night, kid,” he mutters, and it hurts, to be so clearly pushed away with a single word. But he _is_ a kid, isn’t he, if he weren’t, he could answer Leonard’s simple question with all the half-formed, embarrassed wants in his heart instead of standing in the middle of Leonard’s courtyard, feeling abandoned and lost and broken.

 

Cisco trails closer and Barry wishes he would just go away. The thought is unkind, uncharacteristic of him, and Barry wonders just how much did wanting Leonard break him already.

  
“Barry?” Cisco asks again, uncertain, quiet – Barry shakes his head.

  
“Everything’s fine,” he lies, and why is it so easy now that he doesn’t even really need it?

  
It’s not like Cisco believes him, anyway.

 

“You don’t seem fine,” he reaches slowly to touch Barry’s shoulder: but Barry can still feel Leonard’s hand on him and he pulls away, side-steps Cisco to head for his room.

  
“I just had a bit too much to drink. See you in the morning.”

 

Truth be told, he’s dreading morning already; he spends the rest of the night staring up into the darkness and wishing he could stop the sun from rising.

 

…….

 

Getting out of bed is harder than ever before. There’s a steady, pulsing pressure in Barry’s head and he would like to ascribe it to the wine, but he knows he would be lying to himself. His gut is twisted into a thousand tangled knots, and just imagining breakfast makes him a little sick, but Barry has to admit it’s got more to do with his fear that Leonard is going to tell him to leave than with the food.

 

Splashing water on his face helps with the headache just a little bit and he drags himself to the table where they all usually have breakfast together. Lisa and Cisco are already there, exchanging bright smiles, just a little star-struck in Cisco’s case, a tiny bit smug in Lisa’s. Cisco’s eyes widen when Barry sits across from them, but Barry gives him an almost imperceptible head-shake – he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to be asked if he’s fine, because he’s not, but there’s nothing Cisco can do to help. And he specifically doesn’t want to talk about it in front of _Lisa_ , who still scares him just a little.

 

His hands shake just a little bit when he hears footsteps in the courtyard.

 

“Good morning,” Leonard says, and Barry musters up the courage to look at him: he wants to make things better, he does, but Leonard’s not looking at him. He sits down next to Barry, but there’s not even a glance Barry’s way, no smiles, no inquiries about how Barry has slept. Barry’s heart clenches and he turns back to his food. It feels like betrayal, for his tongue to still enjoy the exquisite flavors when his whole chest hurts.

 

“I have to leave,” Leonard announces and Barry fumbles with the grapes in his hand. He looks to the side, but Leonard’s profile is hard, unreadable. All Barry can think of is ‘he’s leaving because of me’.

 

Lisa is the one to ask for the reason: Leonard talks about a messenger who came before sunrise, about some urgent business at the dock, a shipment of saffron going one place or another. Barry listens half-heartedly, but their exchange from yesterday keeps playing before his eyes and he hears Leonard’s frustration all over again. _You don’t mean to stay and you choose not to go._ This is Leonard choosing because Barry can’t, Leonard leaving where Barry doesn’t want to. He doesn’t believe in convenient messengers – Leonard can’t stand to be around Barry anymore, around his indecision and rejection. Barry’s heart is hollow and dry through the breakfast as Leonard chats with Lisa and Cisco about trade; by the time Leonard stands up from the table and bids them goodbye (never touching Barry, never even looking at him), a decision is surging up in Barry’s mind, pushing him into action.

  
It’s not even a decision, really, just panic surging up at the thought of Leonard leaving and never coming back, of Barry being sent back to Knossos the next day, or the day after, without ever having had the chance to be brave and fight for what he wants. If Leonard is leaving, Barry has nothing to lose: Leonard is not going to want him back and that means it won’t matter whether Leonard thinks Barry’s shameful and improper and wrong.

 

He runs after Leonard, out of the kitchen, down the courtyard and through the gate, back around the house to the stables, heart beating so fast in his chest it’s making him dizzy, again.

  
“Wait!”

 

His cry stops Leonard at the stable entrance, his horse ready for the road. The man turns to Barry and his expression is blank, nothing like the storm from yesterday, no rage, no pain, no hope.  


Barry still has no words for what he feels, no words he could speak without choking on them, so he does the only thing he can: he surges forward and his hand shoots up to wrap around the back of Leonard’s neck as he crashes into the older man in a desperate kiss.

 

The force of impact sends Leonard backwards: his back collides with a red column behind him and it makes their teeth clash together painfully, but Barry still almost sobs at the contact. He’s never kissed anyone before, even though he spent most of his youth thinking about kissing Iris and marrying her one day. But that was before she was married to someone else, before Barry discovered that shameful part of him that wanted an _erastes_ for reasons other than the politics of it. Leonard is strong and solid against Barry, his mouth a slow burn and a soothing dampness all at once. Barry trembles with the force of his feelings, and he hopes Leonard understands through the kiss what Barry can’t voice: he hopes that Leonard won’t run away now, that maybe, he won’t mind Barry wanting him more than is proper.

 

And then Leonard is pushing him away, his long fingers wrapped around Barry’s arms gently, but firmly, and his eyes are the same blank emptiness as before.

  
“I have to go.”

 

Barry wants to ask him not to, wants to plead and beg, but there’s nothing more he can add: he tried to show Leonard the feelings he was afraid to speak of, and Leonard has made his choice. He watches the man mount his horse and ride off, and he can’t bring himself to go back to the house and face Lisa or Cisco, so he ends up sitting right there, back against the stable’s wall, breathing in the dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. He doesn’t even know what to think – yesterday, Leonard accused Barry of not knowing what he wanted, and today, when he tried to reach out… it was too late.

 

Cisco finds him eventually, sits down next to Barry quietly and hands him a cup of wine. Barry knows he shouldn’t be drinking this early, but he can’t find it in himself to care; he’s halfway through the cup when Cisco finally speaks.

  
“Lisa says there was no messenger. She checked for hoof-prints.”

 

“I know,” Barry says – he didn’t, not for sure, but he had a feeling that Leonard’s disappearance has nothing to do with duties. It’s just a way to spare them both more pain, and Barry should move, say goodbye to Lisa and go, but he still can’t bring himself to move. It feels like leaving this house would be too final, too definite, like there’s no end until he walks away. It’s stupid, because he’s managed to break everything in sight with his inaction, with his _action_ , and Leonard isn’t coming back.

 

“Lisa also says that we should stay,” Cisco shrugs, and Barry raises an eyebrow at him: he doesn’t want to go, but they have to, it’s over, what does Lisa mean- “There’s still two weeks left of your _harpagmos_ and… I think we should stay, too. You’ll have more time to yourself, you know? You won’t have to explain anything to anyone for now.”

 

Barry wants to groan at the suggestion, both in pain and in relief. He has a feeling that Lisa asked them to stay more because of Cisco than for Barry’s benefit, but he’ll take it: not having to explain why Leonard is not interested in him anymore to his father or to his other friends sounds like a good deal. Barry nods and finishes his wine, then gathers himself up from the ground.

  
“Thanks,” he smiles at Cisco a little – smiling is difficult for now, but Barry’s going to take Lisa’s offer. Not having to talk to anyone for two more weeks sounds like a great idea… and if a tiny little part of Barry pipes up that maybe Leonard will come back, Barry pushes it down with brutal force.

 

……

 

It barely takes Leonard an hour to reach the port: concealed by tall, white cliffs, nobody would guess it was there unless they knew where to look. Leonard knows because he’s used that port before, along with the deep underground caves accessible from the thin strip of sand that cannot be honestly called a beach.

 

He is not sure he needs what the ship is carrying anymore, but it would be both unfair and dangerous to keep Mick waiting. Dangerous because someone could accidentally spot Mick’s ship, question how exactly is Leonard related to a pirate vessel, unmistakable with its uniquely painted sides; dangerous because Mick could decide to simply walk up to Leonard’s villa, revealing that their connection from Leonard’s ex-pirate days is not as strictly severed as Lisa would like to think.

 

“Took you long enough,” Mick calls as he jumps off the hull into shallow water. Leonard dismounts and waits, watches his friend wade through the waves to the shore. Mick’s an imposing figure even with his kilt wet halfway up his thighs and sticking to his legs: it would be funny on anyone else, but nobody would dare laugh at Mick where the man can see, unless that person has a death wish. Leonard has learned that lesson long ago… and he could take Mick, probably, but a scuffle in the sand is not what he’s here for, not today.

 

“Hope ‘twas fuckin’ worth it,” Mick grumbles and hands Leonard a cloth-wrapped package: Leonard pushes the rags away mostly out of habit, inspection of goods ingrained in him like second nature. It’s a beautiful cup, well worth what he’s paid to have it made – solid gold and crafted by the best master Leonard could find. The bull twisting around the cup is roaring, angry and exquisite, but it’s not what catches Leonard’s eye. The figure of a young man flying above the bull’s horns, body caught in flowing motion, tugs at Leonard’s heart painfully and he pulls the cloth over the gold in haste.

  
“Sell it,” he barks, tossing the cup back to Mick – the man catches it mid-air and bares his teeth in a snarl:

  
“What?! You got me runnin’ your errands like a slave and then ya don’t even want the fuckin’ thing?!”  
  
“I don’t need it anymore,” Leonard turns away, but Mick is having none of that: he is very much like Lisa, in a way, and Leonard dreads the day when they both realize that and start working in unison rather than against each other. The cup is pushed almost in Leonard’s face – the lithe carving of Barry’s golden body mocks his defeat.

  
“Ya been obsessed with that boy since ya first saw him leap over a bull,” Mick growls. “How come ya don’t ‘need’ this, huh? Time’s not up, last I checked. Two months, that’s the deal.”

  
“So I keep him for two more weeks, and then he’s gone anyway-”

  
“How d’ya know that? Two weeks is a fucking long time.”

 

“Not long enough.”

 

“For what?” Mick sneers, mocking and caustic. “Making him fall in love with ya? Ya knew the odds when ya started this, Len.”

 

His old pirate name echoes in all the hollow places inside of him, and he longs to be at sea again, unbound to anyone, anything. He gave that life up when their father died, Lisa too young for marriage – but from time to time, he looks at the vast horizon and remembers.

 

“He couldn’t even look at me for days,” he tries to explain, but it creaks like an excuse even in his own ears. “Then, when I said I had to go away this morning he just…”

 

Leonard winces at the memory, swallows as his mouth brings back the taste of Barry’s lips. Mick is frowning at him, long and hard.

  
“What?”

 

“He kissed me,” Leonard sighs. “He’s so desperate for an _erastes_ that he’s willing to surrender, would you believe it…”

 

He trails off into a humorless chuckle, and Mick grunts, speculative, reluctant. To someone who doesn’t know him, Mick might appear slow, but Leonard has seen the man think before and he knows Mick can be sharp like a dagger, even though he prefers to burn bright and wild and deadly. That’s why he’s always valued his advice - that’s a little why he’s come today, apart from the obvious.

 

“Not really,” Mick replies in the end. “Ya sure it’s just that? He’s young, pretty, we’ve seen him leap. He coulda had men before ya, if he wanted.”

 

“He’s not like that,” Leonard frowns. Whispering, lying waves reach for his feet. “Not like me.”

 

Nobody knows that side of him, not even Lisa – nobody but Mick, because Mick has learned all the awful parts of Len, Mick remembers Len at sixteen, angry and wild and unapologetic in his lust. Mick was the age Leonard is now: they used to be pirates, outlaws, running from the world. Len was eager, so damn eager, brash and in-your-face about his desires, brave to the point of recklessness about everything else. Ironically enough, he learned control with Mick – not _from_ him, never from him, but Mick’s fire needed to be contained and Len learned how to do that for the older man, and later on, for himself. But through all that, he never kept pulling away like Barry did.

 

“Thank gods for that,” Mick guffaws. “One o’ you is enough for the whole damn world. Don’t mean he can’t like ya.”

 

“Doesn’t mean he will, either. Not the way I want him to, anyway.”

 

“Ya knew he liked that girl. Just ‘coz she got married won’t make it go away so fast.”

 

“I thought I could handle it,” Leonard smirks self-deprecatingly – he has vastly underestimated what it would feel like to have Barry close for so long, to know how he thought, how he laughed, how his lips looked wrapped around juicy pieces of fruit. He thought he could have his fun and give something back to the boy in return, no strings attached – he did not expect that ‘something’ to be his heart.

 

Mick sneers at him, as always unsympathetic to deeper emotional plight.

 

“So what? Gonna give up before ya have to? Enjoy what ya have with him, full time, then let him decide. That’s the proper way. Made your choice, now let him have his. Ya can always sulk ‘bout it later, if he don’t want ya.”

 

Mick tosses him the cup and Leonard catches it, remembering yesterday’s exchange, how he talked to Barry, accused him of all the faults that lay solely within Leonard’s heart. Hissed his feelings in Barry’s face, half-mad with frustration and thoughts he could not control, and expected the sixteen-year-old boy to know how to answer.

  
“I might have yelled at him,” he admits, grudgingly, scowling at the glinting edges of the cup that peek out from the rags. Mick snorts.

 

“Yer a dick.”

 

“I remember you yelling at me plenty,” Leonard huffs defensively. Mick simply cackles. Leonard is starting to detest the amount of sheer amusement Mick draws from his personal tragedy.

 

“Ya were a troublemakin’ piece o’shit, always gettin’ yourself near killed. ‘Course I yelled at ya. Now go make good with the boy.”

 

Mick is sniggering under his breath on his way back to the ship: it’s the same one they built together, the same one that carried Len to vast distances, to riches and danger and adventure. Three years of his life are soaked into the cedar of that ship; and Leonard finds himself looking back, to the winding path that holds his freedom now.

 

He stands on the shore and watches the ship’s sail disappear around the cliffs. He stands there and makes peace with the sea that will never have him like it used to, and when the waves start curling around his ankles, he mounts his horse and heads home.

 

…….

 

The steps of the house are warm from the sun – it’s burning gold and red in the sky, nearly touching the sea. Barry leans back on his hands, palms digging into the terracotta, and he wonders if he will ever feel whole again. It has become impossible to stay in the house: Cisco casts him apologetic glances from time to time, but his attention is on Lisa. Barry doesn’t blame his friend, not at all. Lisa is beautiful and a little intimidating, quick and lively and above simple boys like them in her priestess status. But she’s focused on Cisco in a way that reminds Barry of Leonard and he can’t take it, not yet, can’t have the memories of what was almost within his grasp thrust back at him.

 

He takes his wine outside – he does not try to drown it all out, not really. He thinks of Iris, his other unrequited love (and how easy it is to connect Leonard and love now that he’s lost him). She’s perfect: beautiful and smart, with laughter that kept echoing in Barry’s heart for days, with kindness that made him long for a future with her. His fault is being too young – she was ready for marriage when he was still just a boy, no way to provide for her and nothing to offer. Eddie is a great man and he loves her, but Barry still wonders whether things would have been different if he’d been born earlier. Would she have seen him as a man, not a brother then? There’s no use in thinking about that, of course. Barry knows, because he spent the four months since Iris’ wedding thinking up all the what-ifs in the world. And it’s only now that he’s alone that he realizes he hasn’t been thinking as much about Iris while with Leonard as he used to. The change was gradual, slow: he didn’t stop thinking about her in a blink of an eye. But Leonard was an entertaining companion, and Barry’s eyes kept surreptitiously drinking in all that tanned skin together with the stories of Egypt and Mycenae and Thebes, and there was simply too much to allow the sadness about Iris’ wedding to resurface too often.

 

Now, his mind is blank, and the pain of losing them both keeps slamming into him full-force. Maybe that’s why he does not register a rider appear on the path, far in the distance; it takes the sound of a horse’s hooves clamoring close, the ground under Barry’s feet vibrating with the weight of the galloping animal, for Barry to notice that someone’s approaching.

 

He’s on his feet, his wine forgotten, as he spots the rider and his heart stops.

 

“Leonard,” he whispers, the name carried off his lips in the wind, but Leonard’s looking right at him anyway, all focused intent and for a moment, Barry thinks Leonard is still mad at him because he jumps off the horse more than dismounts and stalks to Barry with long, purposeful strides. But then he’s stopping at a comfortable distance and he looks… uncertain? Barry has never seen the older man project anything less than complete confidence, but now his mouth is just a little too tight, his shoulders slightly too rigid, and Barry swallows, pushes his hopes down, afraid to let them grow.

  
The world blurs a little, his eyes stinging, and Leonard steps forward, but doesn’t touch.

 

“I’m sorry,” they say, at once. Leonard frowns.

  
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Barry. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday the way I did. Can we talk?”

 

“You left,” Barry blurts out – it’s not what he intended to say, but it comes out, urgent and important. Leonard looks earnestly sorry about it.

 

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Barry adds, and he doesn’t even know what it is he wants to hear, but he understands when Leonard motions with his hand towards the house gate. This is not a conversation they should have on the front steps – not when they’re both flight risks, anyway.

 

He let himself be led to Leonard’s room: it’s smaller, simpler than Barry would’ve expected. The frescos on the walls are as beautiful as the rest of the house, but other than that, nothing betrays that a wealthy man lives here. Barry likes it, and he almost becomes caught in the study of the walls, but Leonard coughs, and when Barry turns to him, Leonard offers a small package. Barry blinks and untangles the strips of cloth; what he finds makes him draw a sharp breath.

 

“This is-“

 

“A drinking cup,” Leonard confirms, easy and cool about it as if it doesn’t change anything, as if he didn’t just hand Barry the world concealed in simple rags. “I had it made for you – it was delivered today.”

 

The bull strains against the gold as Barry turns the cup this way and that. Is he really worth this much to Leonard? The man must have had it planned, a cup like that could not be acquired overnight and Barry is not sure that after the last night, after this morning, Leonard would even want to.

 

He glimpses the figure of a boy over the bull’s back, long and lean and familiar, and his eyes widen as he looks up at Leonard in disbelief.

 

“Is this… me?”

 

A gentle hand wraps around his fingers, around the cup.

  
“I first saw you a year ago,” Leonard speaks, so soft that Barry has to strain his ears to hear. Looking at the older man mortifies him but he forces his eyes never to stray, afraid that if he keeps looking away too much, Leonard is going to disappear. “You were at the ceremony, in the central courtyard at Knossos, and I couldn’t look away. I knew then that I wanted you to be mine – but as I watched, I saw you looking at a girl.”

 

“Iris,” Barry breathes – there was no one else then he would look at. He wonders if people will notice him looking at Leonard one day: he’s afraid of that future, but not enough to avert his eyes in the now.

  
Leonard simply nods: it should be disconcerting how much he knows about Barry’s life, but then, there’s not that much privacy on the island and it’s not so difficult to know anything, if one’s interested. Barry has never seen any reason to hide: the thought that it might change soon gives him both chills and a strange thrill.

 

“When I heard she got married… I thought I had a chance with you. I know,” Leonard’s voice turns rushed, insistent, “it was an assumption I shouldn’t have made. You need to understand something about me, Barry – I’m never going to marry a woman, have a family. I am… I don’t feel the same things for women that I do for men. It was wrong of me to expect more of you than friendship. I told you I won’t make you do things that you don’t want, and I still pushed you to do just that. I would still like to stay by your side, maybe take you to see the places we talked about – but know that you will never have to pay me back or try to keep me with you like you did this morning.”

 

Barry watches Leonard struggle through the words, and his racing heart is a spiderweb of tiny cracks. The words don’t come easy, but with Leonard stumbling down this painful path, Barry can’t let him walk alone.

  
“I… I wanted to,” he starts, and Leonard gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“You wanted to stop me from leaving. And I won’t, not anymore. But-“

  
“I wanted to,” Barry insists, and repeating the words is easier than saying them for the first time. “I wanted to. Not just… you were leaving, and I was scared, but… it wasn’t just that. I wanted…”

 

He can feel heat rising to his cheeks as he speaks, but he has to let Leonard know: because not knowing is what made Leonard leave the first time. Barry has been so worried that if Leonard knew how Barry felt, he wouldn’t want him anymore, and to hear it was exactly the opposite, that Leonard is like… _that_ , like him, a little bit, that he does not want Barry only until he finds a suitable wife, it’s a heady rush of relief and want in Barry’s head.

 

Leonard leans a little closer and his eyes are impossibly blue even in the dark, but Barry’s gaze strays to his lips without him knowing.

  
“You wanted to kiss me?” Leonard’s question ghosts over Barry’s cheek, barely there. Barry finds himself drawing a deep breath to capture it.

  
“I’ve wanted… for a while.”

 

He half-expects Leonard to close the distance, but the man is a warm statue in Barry’s space, and Barry understands. He is given all the power again, all the decisions – Leonard, beautiful, powerful Leonard, is at a disadvantage, allowed to take but never sure if what he’s taking is given or sold. Barry understand the urgency to know for sure and he leans in first, his whole body on fire and trembling so hard he can barely stand still.

 

Their noses brush, tenderly and slowly, and Barry focused on the sound of Leonard’s breathing before he closes his eyes. The first touch of their lips is so soft Barry almost misses it, but then their mouths align and there’s no pain, no taste of blood this time around, just a strange sort of energy tingling under Barry’s skin. Leonard’s hand comes up to cup his cheek and Barry giggles, inappropriate and nervous and heady from just this. And then wet tongue is dragging across Barry’s lip and his half-choked laugh becomes a strangled groan, the sound licked out of his mouth.

 

He doesn’t know how much time passes: he’s never learned how to kiss and Leonard is teaching him with slow insistency until Barry repeats the licks, the nips, daring and hungry for everything. Somewhere along the way, Leonard has pulled the half-wrapped cup out of Barry’s grip and tossed it onto the bed: his arm is a perfect fit around Barry’s waist, his hand splayed against Barry’s back and drawing unrecognizable patterns into his skin. Barry feels himself react and he pushes away, hands against Leonard’s chest and heart skipping a beat. Leonard said he was the same, that he only wanted this if Barry did – but Barry is still afraid of wanting too much, too soon, too boldly.

 

Leonard’s hand covers his and squeezes, and every fear Barry had of making Leonard mad again dissolves when the man’s red-kissed lips stretch in a smile.

  
“There’s nothing more we need to do. It’s alright.”

 

And Barry’s a little bit glad to be treated with such care, but at the same time, he’s back to the vicious circle of wanting things he doesn’t know how to ask for.

  
“The thing,” he starts and his cheeks blaze up, “the thing that… you… that an _erastes_ does, to his boy.”

 

Leonard’s eyebrow arches up high.

  
“You want that?”

  
Barry nods, hoping it will be enough, and maybe it is: Leonard kisses him again, draws him close and Barry forgets to be ashamed of the fact that his loincloth is getting tighter with every passing moment. He’s pulled down to the bed, straddling Leonard’s lap and his arms find a way around the man’s shoulders. He can’t get enough of skin-on-skin, not knowing what else he can do, so he groans into the kiss and brushes up against Leonard. The first time his hard member makes contact with Leonard’s taut stomach, Barry keens out loud: Leonard laughs, and his lips slide to Barry’s neck, mouthing at his collarbone.

 

Leonard pushes the tips of his fingers past the waistband of Barry’s loincloth. Barry can feel his hands trembling slightly against his skin when the man unravels the long strip of fabric, and it somehow makes Barry feel like they’re on more equal footing. He doesn’t know if Leonard’s nervous or if he just wants him too much: the first thought eases Barry’s own nerves a little, but the second leaves him breathless as he bites Leonard’s lips, trying to keep a semblance of control over himself. He tries to return the favor, but his fingers are too clumsy all of a sudden. Leonard comes to rescue, helping with a small smile on his lips while Barry focuses on his kilt; he tries to swallow through the dryness in his throat as he sees proof that Leonard is just as aroused as Barry. It’s not that naked bodies, male or female, are new to Barry – but it feels like this moment is a lot more intimate than just seeing someone without their clothes. Leonard is allowing Barry to see his desire, and Barry knows that their positions are different, that the older man is allowed what is shameful in the younger, but after seeing Leonard first, he feels a little less ashamed when the loincloth finally falls from his hips.

 

He’s grateful when Leonard doesn’t keep his focus on Barry’s cock – the older man brings his hand up to cradle Barry’s neck and draws him into another kiss, slow, deep and teasing. Barry’s hips move on their own, grinding erratically against Leonard’s stomach: he tries to pull away and sit back, ashamed of causing his sticky mess to smear over Leonard’s skin, but long fingers cup his buttock and pull him closer. A groan tears out of Barry’s throat at the contact and his hips stutter when Leonard’s hand finds a way between his cheeks: for a split second, Barry freezes, because he does want to do this with his _erastes_ , so, so much, but there are lines he’s not ready to cross, a part of his dignity he’s not ready to give up. But the firm fingertips trail down, tease at the inner side of Barry’s thigh instead, and the thought of what’s coming next makes Barry stupid with lust. He has never imagined it would be like this, impossible to resist and good, so good – Hartley, who ended up taking Barry’s place as Harrison’s _eromenos_ , spoke of it as vexing, too long, mildly boring. Barry cannot see how things with Leonard could ever be boring – if he survives this, that is, if his heart does not give out from the sheer speed, if he does not pass out from the lack of air in his lungs because he can’t stop kissing Leonard.

  
“Turn over,” Leonard whispers into the skin of his neck and Barry shivers. He’s not quite sure how to obey without toppling to the ground, but the moment he swings one unsteady leg back from Leonard’s lap, a strong arm is wrapped around his waist to lift him. Barry whimpers at the sensation of being manhandled so easily, like he weighs nothing: he’s never been particularly heavy, but he _is_ almost as tall as Leonard, even if his body is leaner.

 

They end up on their sides, Leonard behind him, the rise and fall of his chest brushing against Barry’s back. He feels exposed, inexplicably more naked like this, facing the whole room instead of just the narrow space between them, but Leonard’s lips press into his shoulder and his hand comes to rub soothing circles into Barry’s stomach and he lets the embarrassment fade into the background.

 

It’s back full-force when Leonard’s hand slips low and curls around his leaking cock; he yelps and twists in Leonard’s arms, his shoulder bumping hard into the man’s chest as Barry turns to stare at him, wide eyed, pushing the hand around him away even though it feels- gods, Barry can’t even name the feeling.

  
“Don’t-“ he starts, but Leonard kisses the rest of the panicked protest away.

  
“I know what you were taught,” he whispers against Barry’s lips, then pulls back just enough to look at him – there’s no trace of condescension in Leonard’s face, no sign that he thinks less of Barry for feeling this so much. “There’s nothing shameful in taking your pleasure as well as giving it. I want you, Barry,” and the way his voice catches, gravelly and rough, is proof enough of that, “but if we do this… I want to do this _with_ you, not _to_ you. Do you understand?”

  
“Yes,” Barry breathes before he surges up to kiss Leonard’s lips again, fingers tangling in Leonard’s short curls and drawing him in. He wants this, so much, and it’s hard to forget everything he’s ever been told about what he’s allowed, but he tries to replace all the old notions of propriety with Leonard’s assurances, with his kisses and touches and his heat, and it doesn’t take long before it starts working. He smiles when he draws back from the kiss, gasping for air just a little, and twists back around, pressing his back into Leonard’s chest. One of Leonard’s arms snakes under his head like a pillow, settles over his breastbone and Barry feels like his heart is trying to meet Leonard’s palm. It’s so fitting, he thinks, that his heart would physically try to reach the man who’s figuratively holding it: it’s a humbling thought that he could give so much of himself to one person. He still fears it, but he has a feeling it will pass in time.

 

And then he can’t think of much else, because Leonard’s free hand is back around his cock, giving it a languid tug, and Barry feels something hot press against his thighs. Instinctively, he raises one leg for better access; Leonard brushes down his hip, to his thigh, pressing it gently back down.

 

“Keep your legs together,” he instructs, and Barry does: Leonard’s cock, longer and thicker than Barry’s, slips through the narrow gap between his thighs and Barry bites his cheek hard to stop himself from crying out at the sensation of the slick head pushing against his balls. It feels so strange, like nothing Barry could ever imagine, but he finds his hips pushing back, seeking more of the heat. Leonard teases, his fingers curled only loosely around Barry, but Barry’s almost gone anyway, his vision blurry as he squeezes his eyes tight, unprepared for so much sensation at once.

 

“Does it feel good?” Leonard asks – Barry’s not coherent, and he wants to be angry at the man for asking questions _now_ when there’s so much else to do, to _feel_. He nods; Leonard licks up his neck, lips tickling against his ear and Barry’s jaw goes slack, releasing a strangled whine.

  
“I take it as a ‘yes’,” Leonard chuckles and his breath is hot and damp against Barry’s ear. His teeth graze Barry’s neck just as his hand tightens around Barry – and then he’s throwing one leg over Barry’s knees and he’s moving, pushing against Barry, slick and slow and _good_ and Barry cries again, unable to get his jaw to work enough to clench and keep the sounds from spilling out.

 

He’s making a lot of noise, and he’s aware that he will be horribly embarrassed of it once they’re done, but for now, Leonard’s hand around him, Leonard’s cock sliding against his cheeks, thighs, balls, it all burns hotter than shame. His body is torn between pushing forward into his lover’s slick palm or straining backwards to meet Leonard’s shallow thrusts, and Barry reaches back, his hand reaching for Leonard’s hip to keep him close.

  
“Leon…ard,” he groans, and the older man’s teeth graze up his neck, his breath hot and loud so close to Barry’s ear.

  
“Len,” his _erastes_ corrects shakily, “call me Len.”

  
Barry tries the name through another high-pitched moan when Leonard’s – Len’s – thrusts speed up and his thumb swipes over the head of Barry’s cock: he’s past caring about shame. His whole body draws up tight, making him tense in Len’s arms, and he grabs the hand over his chest and twines their fingers together as he finds his release with a drawn-out, strangled cry.

 

His body is still shuddering in aftershocks when Leonard’s cock pulses hot between Barry’s legs and twitches, spilling all over Barry’s thighs, sticky and searing like a brand against Barry’s skin. He sighs at the sensation, odd, yet not unpleasant, and Leonard’s choked-off sob is enough to make Barry’s lips stretch in a lazy smile. He doesn’t even remember sweating so much, but Leonard’s chest is heaving against his back, skin damp and quickly cooling, and Barry lets out a quiet chuckle.

 

“You find this… funny, huh,” Len’s voice is mostly just gasping for air, and Barry laughs again, contentment more than amusement bubbling up, impossible to stop. He twists in the sloppy hold of Len’s strong arms as he smiles at the man. Len smiles back, eyes half-lidded and bright, and Barry would never believe that ‘sated’ could be such a beautiful look on someone, that it could make his whole chest light up like a night sky, a myriad of tiny, warm sparks all along his ribs.

  
“Are you two _done_ yet?!” Lisa’s voice carries loud and strong through the courtyard. “By the _gods_ you’re loud!”

 

Len releases a painful, heartfelt groan and Barry can’t help but do the same, turning completely to his other side as he buries his face in Len’s damp chest, too embarrassed to ever face the world again. He doesn’t mind, though – doesn’t mind the mess sticking his thighs together, either, even if it’s becoming maybe a tiny bit gross. But Len’s there, arms around Barry and muttering sweetly into his hair about all the ways he’s going to murder his sister, and Barry thinks that maybe he can work with a little shame after all.

 

Days later, at the temple, with Len by his side for their sacrifice to the gods, Barry walks with his head held high.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Erastes = the lover; the older man in the relationship. (plural 'erastai')
> 
> Eromenos = the loved one; the young man/boy.
> 
> Harpagmos = the ritual abduction of the loved one, practiced on the island of Crete. The older man acquired permission to pursue the boy from the boy's father, then with the help of the boy's friends, 'abducted' the boy to take him to the wilderness, where they hunted and feasted for two months together with the boy's friends. The couple made some sort of an offering to an altar somewhere during that period, and after the two months were up, the boy was gifted with an ox, a drinking cup and a set of armor, and he also had the right to reject the older man. 
> 
> As far as I found out, sex was not a requirement for an erastes/eromenos relationship. It was viewed as a bit of a 'payment', for the work of the older man as a mentor and teacher. The older man often physically desired the younger, but it was up to the boy to decide whether he did or did not agree to sexual activities. Some people saw it as more honorable and 'pure' if the relationship was kept platonic, while some said it was all okay as long as the boy did not get any pleasure himself from the act - he wasn't even supposed to get aroused. Anal was a big no-no since that was seen as unmanly and shameful, and if word got out that the boy allowed that, he could even have trouble getting some high-status political positions.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/) :)


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